Fear Leads
by Sakura Tsukikage
Summary: Xanatos as a child at the Temple. He has a traumatic experience that leaves echo of what he might someday become.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** It all belongs to the Flanneled One. I'm just having fun in his galaxy.

**One**

Padawan Xanatos duCrion was arrogant, everyone knew that.

Most simply dismissed it. After all, he had been chosen early as the apprentice of one of the greatest Masters in the Order, rogue though Qui-Gon Jinn might be, and it was true that the boy's talents were exceptional. A little arrogance was excusable, especially in one still so young.

But rather than that making the other's boy's distant pride and subtle conceit easier to bear, those mitigating factors only made Initiate Jerec hate him more. Xanatos had been chosen by Qui-Gon when the stuck-up little vreldt was nine—_nine_! Jerec was nearly thirteen, and he still hadn't been chosen as a Padawan. Every day brought his birthday and the Medical Corps closer. Every day he had to watch other Padawans, his age or younger, even, walking around the Temple accompanied by their Masters. Every time he had to address the younger boy as "Padawan" Xanatos, acknowledging Xan's higher status, Jerec felt a sick, tense heat building in his stomach, in the back of his throat, until he had to grit his teeth and clench his hands into fists to force it back.

That tight, nauseating resentment had settled into a ball in his stomach, growing and festering until Jerec resented everything about the younger boy, from the noble blood apparent in the defined angularity of his features, his pale skin and jet black hair and deep blue eyes, the aristocratic tilt of his chin, the straight line of his noble nose, the finely curved arches of his cheekbones, to the patrician, slightly Telosian lilt of his speech, to the proud, confident, superior way the other boy carried himself, to the way he tugged thoughtfully on his Padawan braid, twirling it between his fingers, whenever he was thinking about something.

That was what Xanatos was doing now, his long fingers twisted up in the inky black strand, slipping it back and forth, back and forth, as he walked down the hall. Jerec gritted his teeth at the sight of the younger boy and moved to block his way down the hall before he was even aware of what he was doing.

Xanatos looked up as he did so. "Initiate Jerec," he said in that slightly mocking, supercilious tone he always seemed to use around him, as if he knew how much it bothered the older boy. A long, tense moment passed, and then Xanatos moved to cross his arms over his chest. "This is a public hallway, is it not?"

"The last time I checked," Jerec replied.

Xanatos smiled. "Than what do you mean by getting in my way? The hallway is wide, and I have as much right to walk down it as yourself. Do you mind?"

Jerec crossed his arms across his chest. "As a matter of fact, Padawan _Xani_," he replied, using Xanatos's nickname from the crèche, "I do mind."

Xanatos's eyes flashed dangerously, but his tone was pleasant enough. "My name is Xanatos," he said. "My friends call me Xan, but you cannot. And I'm not following your logic, Initiate Jerec."

He really sounded far too intelligent for a boy who had only just celebrated his eleventh Life-Day. Jerec could feel the sick anger welling up in his stomach again.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson, little boy," Jerec growled, and he reached out to grab hold of Xanatos's short, spiky hair, twisting painfully. He pulled back with one hand and slammed his fist into Xanatos's face.

The smaller boy gave a cry of pain, his entire body shaking from the blow like a duracrete rat caught in a hawkbat's claws. Jerec let go and Xanatos stumbled back against the wall. Cold satisfaction trickled down Jerec's throat and into his belly at the damage his punch had inflicted. Xan's pale skin wasn't nearly so perfect now.

He felt no guilt, none at all, to see Xan raise a shaking hand to his eye, staring at him with shock in that glittering dark blue gaze, no matter that Xanatos was smaller and younger and he knew very well that the younger boy had only recently recovered from a bout with the Terellian flu. There was only that quick, heady rush of pleasure to seeing Xan's hand shaking a little, the rapidly purpling bruise around his eye.

He was doing nothing _wrong_, Jerec assured himself. Xanatos had gotten above himself and needed to be brought back down. It was not the Jedi way to take pride in one's own perfection. Xanatos had erred, and he would have to be punished. Jinn wouldn't do it; he doted on the arrogant little kath hound. It was up to Jerec to administer justice.

"What the Force do you think you're _doing_?" Xanatos burst out, the imperious tone incongruous with the soft youthfulness of the eleven-year-old's features and his slumped posture against the wall. He straightened up, his eyes flashing with haughty defiance. "I won't let—"

"I'm teaching you a lesson—in humility, Xani," Jerec bit out, wrapping blunt fingers around Xanatos's Padawan braid, twisting the silky strand roughly in his hand and yanking brutally upward. Xanatos let out a sharp gasp of pain and his hands flew up to the braid as Jerec clenched his fist even tighter and used the leverage his hold on the braid gave him to forcibly tilt Xanatos's head backward. The younger boy's slim fingers caught against Jerec's fist, raking scratches into his skin, but Jerec was big and strong for his age, and a slender, still-frail child just past his eleventh Life-Day, no matter how athletic or skilled at lightsaber drills, was no match for him. Jerec shook Xanatos, slamming him back into the wall, and the boy's head cracked loudly against the tiled plaster. Xanatos gave a thin cry of pain before he bit his lip to keep it inside.

Jerec was glad to see he knew screaming would be of no use.

"Get off me, Initiate," Xanatos ordered breathlessly, still fighting vainly to break away. "L-leave me alone. I don't have to answer t-to you." His husky, childish tenor quavered slightly, and Jerec could feel the fear behind the bravado.

It exhilarated him. He enjoyed seeing the proud Padawan humbled and frightened. One part of Jerec was crying out for him to stop, shouting that this was wrong, that he shouldn't be taking such pleasure from the other boy's wide, frightened eyes or flinches of pain, but that part of him was overpowered by the rush of anger and resentment and Jerec didn't listen. He caught Xanatos's struggling fingers in his other hand, closing his own fingers into a fist around Xan's slim wrist and tilting it backward.

Xanatos's face twisted in agony. "Stop it, Jerec," he said. "_Stop_ it."

Jerec smashed Xanatos's twisted wrist against the wall, then slammed it into the hard surface again, grinding his knuckles against the back of Xan's hand. Xanatos gave a small whimper and let his eyes slide closed.

Jerec could feel Xan's mind reaching out with the Force, searching for his Master. Well, no one had ever said the boy was stupid. "_None_ of that!" he ground out, bringing up his knee to slam it into Xanatos's stomach. The smaller boy gasped weakly, but didn't bother to cry out as he slumped over Jerec's knee in pain. Jerec twisted Xan's abused arm behind his back until he could hear the shoulder-joints pop.

There were tears now, silent glistening streaks slipping slowly down the other boy's ghost-pale cheeks. "Let's see how well you do in your next lightsaber drill with your arm like that," Jerec taunted.

Xanatos sniffed and lifted his good hand to rub his tears away. He was taking deep, shuddering breaths and didn't respond to Jerec's taunts.

Jerec hit him again, knocking his face to the side. "Not so pretty now, are you?" he added, and raked his fingers in deep scratches across that pale skin, knowing full well how vain Xan was. Another failing, more proof of his unsuitability to be a Padawan when Jerec was not. He grabbed the braid again as Xan fell, rubbing his fingers and thumb up and down it to muss the neatly plaited strands. He rolled the bead at the end between his fingers for a moment, then fisted his hand and yanked it out.

"Don't," came Xanatos's weak protest. "Don't. I'll—I'll—stop hurting me. I mean it, Jerec."

"Oooh, big bad Xani wants me to stop," Jerec taunted. "I'm so _scared_."

"_Stop_ it!" Xanatos screamed, and then he was on top of Jerec, his uninjured hand wrapped around the other boy's throat and squeezing, his young face twisted in a mask of frenzied rage. Jerec gasped for air as Xan's knees drove into his stomach. Through the dark stars dancing across his vision he could see Xanatos go for his lightsaber and he wondered if this was how he was going to die. Even a training lightsaber could be fatal at this range—"I told you to leave me alone; I _told_ you. You're going to regret—"

"Xanatos!"

That deep voice came from the end of the corridor, and Xanatos simply . . . stopped. His arms dropped, and he slid off Jerec to stare at the floor. Jerec simply concentrated on gasping for air. Xanatos had a strong choke for someone that slight. "M-Master," Xan whispered, then seemed to gather himself together. He looked up at Master Jinn. "Master, I—this isn't what it looks—"

"Xanatos, what is going on here?" Master Jinn had reached them by now, and out of the corner of his clearing vision Jerec could see the big man's frame hunker down beside them.

Xanatos threw Jerec a terrified glance; and then, slowly, new tears began coursing down his cheeks.

"Oh, Xan," Jinn said in a rush, and he reached out to lay his hands on those small, shaking shoulders. Jerec watched in bafflement. Xanatos was tougher than that. His silent tears earlier had been real. These were not--instead, they were accompanied by sniffles and moans and frequent wipes of his eyes.

"He—he hurt me, Master," Xan whimpered pathetically, in a voice Jerec had never expected to hear from Xanatos's lips. "I—I tried—"

"Shhh," Jinn said. "Shhh. I know. Easy, Xan." He enfolded the boy in his arms and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his black, spiky head, and Xanatos collapsed weightlessly into that strong hold, his good hand clenching in Jinn's tunic.

Jerec watched in shock. What was going on here? What was Xanatos playing at?

And then Master Jinn turned to him with steel-blue fire in his eyes, and Jerec understood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thanks to my reviewers; I love Xan too. Here's the second and final part of this one.

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to the Flanneled One. Xanatos is Jude Watson's. Lucky lady.

**Two**

"I didn't start it," Xanatos murmured desperately as Master Qui-Gon practically lifted him to settle him back on his feet. He sniffed back the false tears that had filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "I didn't start it, Master, I promise."

Qui-Gon's big hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder. "I know, Xan," he said. "Shhh."

Xanatos led his eyes slide closed and wavered in relief, resting his uninjured hand against the wall to support himself.

That had been close, but it had paid off in the end.

He wouldn't be punished for losing his temper. His Master didn't think he'd started it.

Qui-Gon still believed in him.

Even crying like a babe in the crèche in front of Jerec had been worth it, as long as his Master didn't think he'd done anything wrong. Didn't . . . know about how close he'd come. Xanatos knew his anger and aggression were inappropriate in a Jedi, but he'd—he'd been defending himself! How could he have reacted any differently? Jerec had been the one in the wrong!

"Initiate Jerec," Qui-Gon said, the roll of his voice like soft thunder. Xanatos cracked his eyes open again and watched Jerec without seeming to from beneath his lashes. "It is against the Jedi Code to take one's aggressions out on a fellow student. This is a serious offense. I will be certain to speak to your Initiate master regarding this incident. The master in charge of your crèche-group is—ah, Jedi Knight Tahl, I believe. I can assure you that she will not be pleased with my report of your behavior. Bullying is not a desirable or attractive fate in a young Padawan, and I would not be surprised if this offense severely damages your chances of ever reaching that status."

Jerec winced, and Xanatos could see the desperation that filled his eyes at Qui-Gon's words. He couldn't find it in himself to care. Jerec was a bully, and he deserved whatever he got.

_Even losing what might be his only chance to become a Padawan?_ came a quiet whisper from the back of his mind, but Xanatos ignored it. Jerec had hurt him. It was only fair that he be hurt in return.

"Now go," Qui-Gon was saying. "Report to Knight Tahl. If you do not, you may be certain I will hear of it, and I will not be pleased. Neither will she."

Jerec sent Xanatos a burning glance full of simmering resentment before he turned on his heel and left the hallway, but Xanatos veiled his eyes with his lashes and pretended not to see. As soon as Jerec was gone, Master Qui-Gon turned back to Xanatos. "You're a mess, my young Padawan," he said in a rueful, affectionate tone.

Xanatos pushed himself immediately away from the wall and opened his eyes wide. "I-I'm sorry, Master," he said, and this time he was completely sincere. "I—I tried to stop him, but I wasn't strong enough." He swiped at the blood oozing from a split lip and tried to straighten his Padawan braid with his good hand. "I'm—I failed you, Master. I'm sorry."

Qui-Gon caught his hand and brought it away from the torn, tangled braid. "None of that now, Padawan," he said gently. "You are still recovering from the Terellian influenza, and you are much smaller than Initiate Jerec. Do you think I blame you?"

Xanatos stared miserably at the ground. He knew Qui-Gon blamed him. Why shouldn't he? He wished his master would tell him the truth. "I should have been strong enough," he mumbled.

"It would have been better if you had avoided the confrontation entirely, but that is not of any import at the moment," Qui-Gon said, brushing his fingers against the blood on Xanatos's chin. "Come now, young one. Let's get you to the Healers."

Xanatos cradled his injured arm protectively against his chest. "Master, it's not that serious," he said quickly, though he had the feeling it might be. He didn't want to go to the Healers, where they'd poke and prod him and ask too many questions. He wasn't a baby, and he didn't need to be coddled. Xanatos couldn't let it get around that a lowly Initiate had hurt him that badly. He—he just couldn't. "C-can we just go back to our quarters, please? I—it's still so—so—please, Master." He looked up through his lashes at Qui-Gon and let his eyes grow moist again, his shoulders start to shake.

There was a moment of silence, and then Qui-Gon sighed and gave in. "Oh, all right," he said. "But if you're sore and sick tomorrow, don't come complaining to me."

"All right, Master," Xanatos said, keeping his eyes respectfully downcast. He leaned into Qui-Gon's steadying arm as his Master led him back toward their rooms.

He had been afraid. Xanatos sat on the edge of Qui-Gon's bigger bed, his tunics resting across his lap, and tested his swollen, bleeding lip with his tongue, his injured arm still cradled in his lap as he shivered with the chill of the air. His Master had gone to fetch the med-kit they kept with the field supplies.

He sighed and hung his head. A Jedi apprentice wasn't supposed to be afraid. He could hear Yoda's voice in his head now . . . _Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering . . . ._ Jerec's attack certainly qualified as suffering, as far as Xanatos was concerned. All the Jedi students knew the path to the dark side; it had been drummed into the initiates since before Xanatos could remember. And he was a Padawan now.

_But what's so wrong with being afraid?_ Xanatos asked silently, looking down at his abused arm, his swelling wrist and the bruises that marked the back of his hand. He ran the fingers of his other hand over the marks left by Jerec's knuckles and winced at the pain it caused. _Jerec could have snapped my arm in half if I hadn't been _angry_ enough to fight back. _And he had been angry because he was afraid of the other, bigger boy. Yoda had been right about that much, at least.

Jerec could have hurt him a lot worse than he had. Xanatos wasn't too prideful to admit that, at least not in the privacy of his own mind. And that was unacceptable. He knew that he was special, that he was better than that. Master Qui-Gon expected great things of him. He had come from privilege and wealth. He was different. He wasn't like Initiate Jerec. How could Jerec have beaten and hurt him so easily? How could he have so terrified him? Inside, Xanatos was still shaking a little.

He had failed, no matter what Qui-Gon said, and Xanatos hated that.

He knew Master Qui-Gon expected great things of him. He heard the Jedi talking about him, how talented he was, how they expected him to become a great Jedi Knight.

He was supposed to be better than this.

Xanatos sniffed and wiped at his eyes with his good hand, and this time the wetness that stained the back of his fingers was no trick.

_Get a hold of yourself, duCrion. Crying over it isn't going to get you anywhere. You just can't let it happen again. You have to get stronger._

Xanatos clenched his fingers. He would get stronger. He would become powerful, so that no one frightened him at all. And then this wouldn't happen again.

"How are you doing, young one?"

It was Master Qui-Gon's voice, and Xan's head snapped up at the sound of it. "Master?" he said, his eyes focusing on Qui-Gon as he came through the doorway into the bedroom. "Oh—I, um, I'm fine."

"I'm sure you are." Qui-Gon crossed the room to kneel before Xanatos on the low bed. He was so tall that he was still nearly level with Xan's eyes. "Well, let me see that arm, then."

Xanatos sighed and offered his injured arm to his master. Qui-Gon took Xan's hand in his, running callused fingers over the bruises and flexing the fingers for him. "Does that hurt?" he asked.

Xanatos shook his head. "N-no, Master." Well, it did hurt, a little, but that wasn't important.

"All right." Qui-Gon moved on to his wrist, turning it slightly. Xanatos winced before he could stop himself. "Looks like this is sprained," Qui-Gon continued. Xanatos nodded unhappily. He had expected that. Qui-Gon grinned up at him. "I suppose you have a durasteel-clad excuse to miss lightsaber practice for a few days, Padawan," he said.

Xanatos tried to smile, but he had a feeling it fell flat. He didn't want to miss lightsaber practice. He didn't want the other Padawans to get ahead of him, and if he wasn't there for a few days he was sure they would. He shrugged and looked away.

He heard Qui-Gon's impatient sigh and winced again before he could stop himself. Was Qui-Gon upset with him? How could he not be? He was, after all, upset with himself.

"Xan," Qui-Gon said, his voice gently impatient. It was all he needed to say; Xanatos could hear his displeasure in his tone.

"Sorry, Master," he said quickly.

Qui-Gon was slowly feeling his way up Xanatos's injured arm. "I don't want another apology, Padawan," he said. He reached the shoulder and rotated it slightly, and Xanatos gasped as white-hot agony sparked through him. The wall of Qui-Gon's chamber blurred into fuzzy mist. He blinked and felt a tear run down his cheek, and his stomach turned over with failure. He knew his cheeks were blazing with shame.

He was crying again, and it still wasn't on purpose.

Qui-Gon's rough thumb stroked across his cheek, brushing the tear away. "Ah," he said. "I thought so. Hold on to me, young one, this is going to hurt." His hand settled at the back of Xanatos's head and pressed it into his shoulder. Xanatos obeyed his command and knitted the fingers of his good hand into the cloth of Qui-Gon's tunic.

He bit deep into his bottom lip as Qui-Gon set both his hands on his shoulders and shifted it so that pain billowed through him again, but he didn't cry out. Something snapped back into place, and sickness welled within him. Xanatos closed his eyes tight and willed the pain away.

In a moment, it was gone, and he was left limp and trembling. "Ow?" he said shakily, looking up into Qui-Gon's face and trying to grin. His master obviously didn't want him to be depressed, so Xan wasn't going to be.

Qui-Gon smiled back through the blur. "Now that's the Xanatos I know," he said. He slid one hand under Xanatos's good elbow and then sat him back on the bed, picking up one of Xanatos's tunics from where it had fallen to the floor and draping it around his shoulders. "What's been bothering you, Padawan?" he continued as he rummaged through the medpac, bringing out a warm antiseptic wipe and beginning to dab at the blood on Xanatos's face with it.

"Nothing, Master," Xanatos said carefully. It was a lie, but he didn't want Qui-Gon to know about his fear or his anger. Qui-Gon would be disappointed in him. He didn't think he could bear that, not on top of the failure his master had already witnessed.

He wanted Qui-Gon to be proud of him. There was no reason to tell him. This would never happen again, Xanatos would make certain of that, so these feelings would never come up again. There was no reason for Qui-Gon to know.

"Is that so." Qui-Gon's voice was inscrutably calm and unreadable. Xanatos hated it when he did that. He felt adrift when he couldn't read his master and figure out what he wanted.

Qui-Gon used the wipe to clean away the traces of tears on Xanatos's cheeks, and Xanatos had to admit that the warm moisture felt good against his skin. His master set it down and picked up some of the salve the Healers made. "Why am I not convinced?" Qui-Gon continued as he began rubbing it into the cuts Jerec's fingernails had left.

Xanatos looked down at his lap. "I'm not sure, Master," he said, making his voice quaver. "I don't want to displease you." That much was true. He looked uncertainly up at Qui-Gon through his lashes.

"You don't, Xanatos," Qui-Gon said. He continued with his task, his concentration apparently entirely concentrated on salving Xanatos's cuts. "But I would like you to confide in me when you are upset." He stopped and brought out a synthflesh bandage that he pressed to Xanatos's cheek, holding it there as it melded to his skin and began to cling. "How does that feel?"

"Fine, Master," Xanatos said, though it stung a little. Healing always did. "I was just . . . shaken."

"I see." Qui-Gon made sure the edges of the bandage were flat against Xan's skin by running his thumb over them, then took his hand away. "You can tell me anything, you know, Padawan. I will not censure you for it."

Xanatos bit his lip and looked away. Qui-Gon might say that now, but surely if he understood how deeply Xanatos had failed he would be disappointed, at the very least. Xan took a deep breath and looked back into his master's eyes. "I was upset," he said serenely. "But I am better now."

Qui-Gon looked at him for a moment, his eyes clear and penetrating, and Xanatos held absolutely still, afraid that some slight shift of his features, even a wobble of his lips or a dip of his eyelashes, would give him away. After a moment, though, Qui-Gon sighed and released his gaze. "I am glad to hear that, Padawan," he said, then smiled at him. "All right, then, let's see if we can get this braid of yours straightened out again."

Xanatos nodded and smiled back, inwardly giving a sigh of relief. It had worked; his master didn't suspect how badly Xanatos had failed him.

It was up to Xanatos now to make certain that nothing like this ever happened again.

Ever, ever again.


End file.
